


Rain

by Dominatrix



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Hurt, OTP forever, Oooh he loves her so bad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-06
Updated: 2012-12-06
Packaged: 2017-11-20 12:07:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/585257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dominatrix/pseuds/Dominatrix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He couldn’t even remember how long he had been standing at the window and counted the rain drops that hit the window pane.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rain

It was raining. That was good. It distracted Sherlock. Distratcted him from the pictures in his mind. White walls, white floors. A bier of metal. Cold neon light that seemed to laugh down on a body maliciously. A smashed face that didn’t remember its former beauty. Emptiness. Crucial emptiness in Sherlock that had suddenly appeared and didn’t go away. An unfamiliar pain.

He couldn’t even remember how long he had been standing at the window and counted the rain drops that hit the window pane and slid down.

Onethousandfourhundredthirtyone.

Onethousandfourhundredthirtytwo.

His thoughts were just as complicated as the words that spread out lazily in his conscience to die there without recognition. Yes, he knew that he wasted his time, that he could do something else instead – Shopping, cleaning the flat. He could finally put the test tubes away from the table. Play violin. Or go to bed and sleep. All this John had suggested when Sherlock had returned from the mortuary without a single word.

Probably his flat mate had known that the likelihood of Sherlock agreeing to one of these suggestions was pretty much around zero…But maybe he was as astonished about the facial expression of the Consulting Detective as Sherlock had been himself. When he had walked towards his violin silently and with calm, controlled steps he looked in the mirror and got startled.

The man who looked at him…He looked sad.

 

No, not sad. Sherlock cursed his slowly working brain when he allowed himself to remember. Something seemed to disturb his ability to think clearly – very troublesome, especially for a person like him. There were no persons like him. There was just him. For a short time Sherlock had believed that maybe there was someone else who thought like he did – at least rudimentary. But this hope had been as temporary as the small drops of water that drummed against the window almost without a sound.

No, sad, this was not the right word. It was too flat, too less Sherlock. It had to be more complex. Devastated? Too dramatic. Numb? Very close.

With a cool view over his shoulder Sherlock saw that John was still bent over his laptop and suddenly looked awfully busy. Sherlock was a little bit next to himself, but he wasn’t an idiot. He had felt John’s worried look on him.

 

“I’m fine.” His voice was unfamiliar. She sounded insecure. Hoarse. Trembling. John looked up.

„Sherlock, it’s understandable that you’re…“

„I’m fine“ he repeated, a little bit sharper and louder than before. The doctor lifted his hands in defence.

“With every other person, Sherlock, I’d say you’re depressed because you were in love with her. What would be understandable. But you…”

“What’s the matter about me?”

„You didn’t love her. You have regarded her as…fascinating. As equal to you. If I wouldn’t know that you usually avoid feelings I’d just say that you’re a little bit broken.”

“John, Irene Adler is dead” Sherlock muttered coldly while he looked out in the rain again. “And nothing can bring her back.”

Onethousandfourhundredthirtythree.

Broken. Yes, this was a word that described his situation just too well. Although Sherlock didn’t understand it calmed him down to be able to hide it in a dark corner of his mind palace under a certain term.

“Why should I still deal with it?”

Onethousandfourhundredthirtyfour.

It would be a long night.


End file.
